


A Crash Course in Organic-Cybertronian Relations

by CornetHummy



Series: Robots in a Ship with Colorful Marines [1]
Category: Red vs. Blue, The Transformers (IDW Generation One)
Genre: Alcohol, Alternate Universe - Canon Divergence, Background Cygate, Canon-typical language, Crossovers & Fandom Fusions, Emetophobia, Everybody Hates Megatron, Gen, Mild Grimmons If you Squint
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2017-02-02
Updated: 2017-02-02
Packaged: 2018-09-21 13:15:14
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 4
Words: 11,718
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/9550649
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/CornetHummy/pseuds/CornetHummy
Summary: A mishap involving the quantum engines has stranded a group of foul-mouthed human soldiers from another dimension aboard the Lost Light, creating all kinds of complications. That's not Megatron's current problem. His problem lies with the suspicious behavior of the potentially dangerous leader of "Red Team." Oh, and the fact that he might have to talk to the humans.Meanwhile, Grif is definitely drunk and not sick no matter what Ratchet claims, Donut makes friends, and Ratchet is tired. In general.Spoilers for More than Meets the Eye Season 2.





	1. Blue Team, Difficulty: Moderate

**Author's Note:**

> So I've recently fallen in love with Transformers: More than Meets the Eye. Which means I have to cross over other things I love with it. That's just how it works.  
> This will probably be one of a series of fics taking place in this scenario, possibly including the incident that leads the Reds and Blues here in the first place. (Though it is alluded to in this fic.) It's largely an excuse for me to let the characters interact and bounce off each other, so don't expect anything too plot-heavy ala Not Your War.
> 
> This takes place in the middle of Season 3 of Red vs Blue (thanks to that bomb) and shortly after the Elegant Chaos/time travel arc of More Than Meets the Eye. Tex and Lopez were not blasted to the Lost Light, but they may show up in a later fic.
> 
> Scale will likely be a little off because this is Transformers.

Most of the armored organics ignored Megatron. Either his appearance intimidated them or his reputation preceded him. Since the humans (who would never stand for being called organics, and he would have to stop himself from calling them "puny") were soldiers of some kind, and the maroon one eagerly followed the even bigger Ultra Magnus around like an eager-to-please shadow when he wasn't with the orange one, he suspected it was the latter.

That was fine with him. He wore an Autobot symbol now of his own choice, and part of that meant tolerating organic species. Captain or not, he was realistically in no position to protest their stay more than he had. Rodimus and Magnus would hear none of it. Rodimus liked the humans, for some blasted reason. Which meant Megatron had to put up with them.

He didn't have to like them. Slag, that wasn't in the Autobot code, was it? Much as he wondered what Orion saw in a race of short-lived, shortsighted, pathetically fragile creatures, he didn't really want to find out.

So why wasn't this red one leaving him alone?

Megatron did his best to avoid optic contact with the human's helmet as he passed him in the halls of the Lost Light. It did no good. The red-armored human would stare at him with defiance reflected in his head tilt. No matter that the helmets hid the unpleasantly squishy human face. Megatron spent thousands of years learning the particular body language the far more stoic Shockwave used and reading his emotions. Compared to an Empurata victim, a faceless human was an easy read.

"Red," who according to Rodimus had a name Megatron couldn't be bothered to remember, would stop and watch Megatron pass. He would gesture to his eyes, and then point at Megatron in the classic 'got my eye on you' manner. And he wouldn't say anything.

It wasn't as if the human couldn't talk. Red was easily one of the loudest space marines, a feat commendable in its sheer implausibility. (Didn't these organics rely on air drawn into bundles of membrane sacs to talk? How did most of them not explode and collapse from the force of shouting?) And obviously Red wanted to challenge Megatron in some manner over something. But he wouldn't say a thing to Megatron directly.

And Megatron couldn't lower himself to ask what this idiot could possibly want of him. He dealt with ridicule and glares from his crew, all of them completely understandable and expected, every day. This was nothing. No, he would ask the only marine he deemed worth a conversation.

"You," he said in his reserved-but-authoritative tone, tapping the light blue marine on the shoulder.

"HeeEEYYY," the robot said in a voice that seemed to go up several octaves when he stared up at Megatron. "It's, uh, you're the-the murdery guy. The other one. Whirl has one eye, right? Yeah, so that's, uh, you. How's it going? Not gonna murder anyone, right?"

"It was not on the schedule," Megatron said, keeping his tone even and reminding himself he earned that question. "I have something to ask you. You are Church, correct?"

"Leonard Church, yeah." He was standing stiff and awkward, fidgeting. What was the point of giving a mechanical body such human-like movements? "God, you're all so fucking big. What's with that?"

"I believe I said I would ask a question, not answer-"

"It's Primus's design! Or something, I guess. Hey, Church!" The 'co-captain' of the Lost Light and spiritual leader of the quest to find the Knights of Cybertron cut right in front of Megatron and held up his palm in what Megatron dimly understood as a "high five." Church returned it with a soft clanking sound.

Megatron dimmed his optics for a second. "Rodimus. Hello. I was just going to speak with the, I believe you are designated Blue Leader?"

"I'm the C.O., yeah. For what it's worth when we're not actually fighting each other. Which is, uh, pretty often," Church admitted, looking between the two captains.

"Right, yeah! Blue and red and green and stuff! You got that-that thing going on, that really important thing. Speaking of important things!" Rodimus grabbed Megatron's arm and gave it a tug. "We co-captains here just gotta talk about something real quick. Important captainy stuff. You'd know too! That's your rank, right?"

"Uh," Church started, but Rodimus didn't wait for an answer. He kept tugging Megatron out into the hallway like a turbofox dragging prey. The Autobot was tilting his head towards the doorway and frowning.  
Megatron would never have tolerated this from Starscream.

He sighed, fingers to forehead, and nodded. "Excuse us, Church."

Once they were out in the hallway and presumably out of Church's hearing range, Megatron took the chance to glare at Rodimus. "What exactly was that for? Did you just seek to undermine my authority for no reason? I was not threatening that Earthling, no matter how panicked he and his soldiers act in my presence. I have done nothing wrong."

"I know, I know," Rodimus said as he held up his hands, "but there's something I need to tell you about that guy."

"He's some manner of artificial intelligence in a human-scale robot body. I know. He's giving off energy readings similar to a drone. But he acts as if he's as sentient as we are."

"I know you know," Rodimus whispered, "but he doesn't!"

"...What? How can one not know what one is?" Megatron snapped his head towards the doorway and glared. "Are the humans keeping it from him?"

Rodimus shrugged. "I don't think they are. Look, humans are weird. Humans from another dimension? Have to be at at least twice as weird."

"He must not consume carbon, breathe, or defecate." Megatron forced down a shudder at that last word. "His body is obviously mechanical."

In a feat worthy of grudging admiration, Rodimus managed to shrug harder. "He seems to think he's a ghost. Like a human ghost. In a robot."

"Do they have ghosts?" Megatron stopped himself and shook his head. "Wait. I don't care. He has a right to know what he is. Are the organics keeping his nature secret from him in order to threaten his self-determination?"

"Look, I know how you feel about humans, organics, whatever. But the others genuinely seem to believe in the ghost thing. I'm not sure if you've noticed, but these squadrons? Not exactly a brain trust."

Megatron narrowed his optics. "It could be an act."

"I mean, maybe? I guess? But either way, that's something to work out later," Rodimus said. "Rung thinks if Church finds out the truth all at once, it'd be too much of a shock to him. Your identity's a big deal. Do you really want a human-made AI of dubious quality having a nervous breakdown on our ship?"

It still struck Megatron as a great injustice, to let this being continue to think he was an organic. Uncomfortable enough that the humans had an artificial intelligence working alongside them, treated like a common soldier. But if honesty would do him harm at this time, as Rung seemed to think, Megatron would wait.

"Fine," he sighed. "I will avoid the subject. But I have a right to talk to someone on my ship."

"Not your ship," Rodimus protested and then snorted. "I'm serious, Megatron. Be nice to the squishies or Ultra Magnus will hear about it. And he will read you the entire Autobot code regarding the treatment of sentient beings, in that monotone of his, for hours."

Megatron peered over the smaller robot's shoulders. "Speaking of, one of the humans is stuck in a ceiling vent."

"I FOUND A LOT OF PIPES HERE," the dark blue-clad human shouted from down the hall. "They look all tangled up. Do you need me to straighten them out?"

Rodimus stiffened, chuckled nervously and spun around, muttering 'slagging' something-or-other under his breath as he stalked towards the loose ceiling vent cover. That gave Megatron a chance to find Church again, hopefully without interruption.  
He was still there at Swerve's bar, thankfully, this time joined by the aqua-colored one. The orange one who was almost always there seemed to have wandered off. This was fortunate. Orange was a member of Red's team, and might not want to divulge information out of loyalty to his leader.

"Whoa," said Aqua, staring up at Megatron's silhouette. "I thought Swerve said you never come in here."

"Almost never." Megatron tried his best to hide the disdain in his voice. No, that was a lie; he put the minimal effort into hiding it. "Bars are a little unruly for my tastes."

"Yeah, he prefers starting wars," Swerve muttered under his breath. "Hey, Tucker! What'd I tell ya? Did I get the good stuff or did I get the good stuff?"

Tucker, who by elimination must have been the aqua one, sat with his helmet off and held a tiny Energon cube with a curly straw. "Uh, yeah dude. This, um. This sure is water. Filtered water."

Swerve grinned, making finger-guns at Tucker. "Guaranteed not to kill you according to Ratchet. Nothing but the best for my customers!"

Church, naturally, didn't have a drink at all. Presumably his body ran off solar energy or a stored battery. "Yeah, the fucking warlord keeps trying to talk to me for some reason."

"Well, he's got something to say, he can say it in front of the rest of us." Tucker shot a brief defiant glare up at Megatron.

Naturally the humans wouldn't trust him. Not if they heard about the war, which they would have had to by now. Certainly not if they knew anything about this dimension's Earth and the actions of the Decepticons there. His actions.

Megatron did Tucker the courtesy of a bowed head and held up his hands. "I will do him no harm. No harm will come to any of you while you are here."

That didn't seem to satisfy Tucker. He just kept glaring. "Okay, big guy. What's so important to ask us about?"

Aware that Church was letting another speak over him, Megatron shelved any criticisms already forming of the Blue leadership.,"It is about your presumed enemy."

"Enemy?" Church startled. "Is Wyoming here? Holy fuck, please tell me you don't have Freelancers aboard. With giant robot friends."

"Freelancers? No, I meant the Red leader."

Tucker squinted. "Oh, Sarge? Don't tell me you made enemies with Sarge."

"Should I be concerned if I have?" Megatron asked.

"Only that he'll never leave you the fuck alone. Everything's somehow a Blue plot. Like, half this time since Wyoming showed up I kinda forgot about the teams," Church admitted.

"Cuz the teams are fake," Tucker interjected. "I keep telling you!"

Church just waxed his hand. "Yeah yeah, the whole fake war Illuminati bullshit you keep going on about."

"Because it's true!"

Church ignored this (alarming, in Megatron's opinion) assertion. "Sarge just does not let things go. Ever."

Megatron stood up straight. "I will not harm you intentionally, but I have the right to defend myself if one of you challenges me."

"Defend yourself?" Church laughed and covered his face. "You're taking him so seriously. Sarge is pretty good in a fight but not like, singlehandedly take down a giant robot warlord guy good."

"You should just like, flick him." Tucker demonstrated with his hand against the empty cube, knocking it across the bar. "Actually, you know what? Do that anyway."

Megatron blinked. "What?"

"God, that'd be hilarious. I would pay to see Mr. Killer Robot Dude just like, tape Sarge to the ceiling. I will film it if you do. Tucker, please tell me we have a camera."

Megatron was beginning to think the humans were not taking his concerns seriously.

"Do it," Tucker said with a grin. "Just like get some alien giant robot duct tape...wait." The grin vanished. "If he challenges you? If?"

"Wait, so he hasn't tried to kill you or blow you up yet?" Church stared up at Megatron with his faceless helmet.

"Why did you think he has? You did not even let me explain what I wanted to know about him or why."

"We just kind of assumed. That's kind of what he does. That and build robots," Tucker said with a shrug. "Has he at least threatened you with a long-winded Foghorn Leghorn rant?"

"He has not spoken to me more than necessary. In fact, he has barely spoken a word to me at all," Megatron said. "He is silent."

That merited a weighted pause from both the human and the android.

"Sarge. Has been. Silent," Church managed with obvious effort.

"He watches me. He glowers under his helmet. While he has as little reason to trust me as any of you, it is obvious he wants me to see him as a threat." Megatron could share neither the humans' irritating humor, nor their latter confusion. Did they not understand an unspoken challenge when they saw one?

"Okay. That, uh. That's weird." Church rested his helmet on his chin. "That's super weird. I don't think I've seen that guy silent ever. Ever."

"Maybe he has a crush on you," Tucker said.

This prompted both Church and Megatron to stare at him for a full ten seconds.

"Look, I'm just saying! Dude seems to be really enthusiastic about Lopez. He really likes machines, like a lot. And he loves guns, and you have a huge gun. Bow chicka- _nope_ , sorry, I'm not gonna say it about a shitty space warlord. Can't do it."  
"What the fuck," Church mumbled.

As for Megatron, he would not even dignify that with a response. (A Cybertronian and a human? Were such things possible? He had no desire to find out.) "I will find his own team, then. They must know him better."

"Yeah! Go find the red and orange guys who are elsewhere! As in not in my bar," Swerve declared cheerfully, looking pointedly up at Megatron. "You're scaring off patrons who wanna see the humans."

"I'm just saying, you gotta keep an open mind with aliens. I mean, have you seen that purple chick? Maybe she likes short guys," Tucker said as he held out his cube. "Hey, Swerve! Can I get a refill? And are you sure you don't have anything stronger than water?"

Swerve shrugged. "I did manage to acquire a little distilled stuff, but I didn't know how much humans hold. You're all small. Grif finished off the last of it."

"So that's why he's not at the bar," Church said. "I was wondering if he was like, dead or something."

It seemed the patrons had already decided the conversation was over, so Megatron turned to leave. He glanced over his shoulder one more time at the blue leader, working against the instinct to pull him aside and tell him. _You are not what you think you are. You may be in more danger than you realize. **You are being deceived.**_

Instead, he gave him a more subtle warning. "As leader, it is your duty to know your enemy inside and out. It may someday save your life."

As he stomped out, forcing down his frustration, he heard Tucker shout after him. "I told you, it's fake!"


	2. Donut, Difficulty: Surprisingly Easy

"I just want you to know I hate you," Simmons assured Grif as he dragged the soldier down the enormous hall. "I was going to attend a screening of a classic Cybertronian film tonight. Rewind was showing an alien movie. An alien movie! A historical docudrama!"

"'N you managed t'find nerds here too, huh? All the nerds," Grif slurred. "I can walk fine," he added, while continuing to lean entirely on Simmons's shoulder. "Don't need a doctor."

"Believe me, I'd love to leave your ass in the hallway, but you just puked glow-in-the-dark puke all over me, remember?" Simmons gestured to his armor, dripping with luminescent fluid. "For all I know your alien flu or whatever is contagious and now we're both going to die."

"No one's-no one's going to die. We don't die. We fight wars forever but we don't die. They don't die. They do die but not, um..." Grif paused in the middle of his drunken rant. "What was I doing jus' now?"

"You were apologizing to me for barfing on me."

"What? Naah, I wouldn't 'pologize for things." Grif laughed bitterly. "You know if we have alien flu we're-we're fucked, right?" 

"Not if I have anything to do with it! God, you're heavy." Actually, Simmons didn't have much difficulty supporting Grif, thanks to cybernetics. But he wanted to make it entirely clear how put out he was at the moment. "There's a medical team. They said there was a medical team on the ship."

 "FOR ROBOTS! For giant car alien robots! Am I a giant robot, Simmons? Can-can I turn into a Puma?...Cuz that would be awesome, don't get me wrong. But I'm not. I am a human, and so are you, and I bet you anything those robots have machine-fixing-thing-stuff. Like whatisitcalled, what's the word. Mechanics. Yeah," Grif said, proud of himself for remembering. "Mechanics."

"Dude, how long were you drinking at that bar?"

"Free booze, Simmonsh! You don't turn that down after Blood Gulch and its alcohol supply of NOTHING. I was there 'til they ran out and Shwerve said I should have water. Fuck that. If we were meant to drink water we'd be, we'd be, we'd be fish. I am gonna throw up again, I think."

This time Simmons stopped and let Grif go as he spilled the ominously-glowing contents of his stomach onto the wall. Only after the gross deed had been done did both realize that wasn't the wall.   
That was the foot of a very tall robot, staring down at them. 

"Oh-oh fuck," Grif stammered as he wiped his mouth and stared up at the Cybertronian. The huge, scowling Cybertronian with a horned helmet and dark glowing eyes. "Heeeey! Hey, buddy. Tall guy. You're all tall guys. Can I-can I wipe that up for you? Can you not kill me for it?"

"Fuuuck," Simmons squeaked. "Fuck, fuck, we're going to die now..."

The looming Cybertronian gazed down at them for another moment. "Please be more careful with your body fluids, Organic." He had a deep, resonant voice coming out of his skull-like face and oh hell, they really were going to die. A robot demon was going to kill them because of Grif. Simmons somehow knew it would end that way.

"Organic? Whoa, are those the humans?!"

A much smaller shape came out from behind the purple robot, peering around his legs. 'Smaller' was relative, as this one still stood several feet taller than any human, with a white and blue chassis and a visored face. "Hoooly Primus, it is the humans! I didn't get a chance to see them until now!"

He walked out in front of his companion and held out a claw-like hand to the bewildered solders. "Name's Tailgate. I'm kind of a big deal around here. This is Cyclonus, and...eww." He lifted up his foot. "Are you guys melting?"

"Careful, Tailgate," Cyclonus boomed. "The gold human is ill."

"It's orange," Grif said, with much less confidence than usual. "Uh, Grif, that's Simmons, sorry I puked on your shoes."

"I thought you said you don't apologize," Simmons couldn't help whispering. 

"To a guy who looks like that?! You fuckin' apologize," Grif snapped back. Then he slumped again, prompting Simmons to catch him.

"Oh gosh! You're not gonna die here, are you? That would be awful! I finally get to meet humans and be taller than someone and they die." Tailgate ran his hands over his angular head. "What should we do? Should we take them to Ratchet and First Aid?" 

Cyclonus considered, scratching his chin. "Perhaps so. Ratchet spent some time on Earth and may know something about human physiology."

"Told you," Simmons added.

"And if many others see them here like this, it may cause a panic about contamination on the ship. For all we know, whatever's happening to-Grif, is it?-may somehow affect us." 

At that Tailgate, who was clearly about to poke Grif, pulled back rapidly. "Jeez. I didn't think about it that way. I was just going to say they could ride in my vehicle mode. Humans do that, right? Ride in things?" 

"There is no need. I have already been exposed." Without a warning, Cyclonus reached down with hands almost as big as Simmons.

"Oh GOD oh god oh god." Simmons was absolutely not clinging to Grif with anything but sheer instinctive terror as the giant's hands wrapped around them.

"I said I'm sorry! I actually said I'm sorry," Grif pleaded. "I'm just drunk! Puking on someone's shoes is part of the experience! Please don't eat me, please don't..."

He trailed off as he, like Simmons, seemed to realize they were unharmed. Cyclonus had them in his firm but gentle grip and held them as if they were something fragile. 

"...Huh. Okay, this is actually kind of cool. Fuck yeah, 'm riding a giant robot! To First Ratchet or whoever. Hey-hey Simmons. Try looking down, it's great."

"I am not looking down," Simmons insisted, scowling at his teammate. He already knew they were in fact, quite high up, and only hoped the stoic Cyclonus didn't drop them as Tailgate darted between his legs and climbed up his back to get a better look at the humans.

"You guys are so teeny and squishy." Tailgate somehow managed to beam without a mouth. 

"You guys...suck," was all Simmons managed in response, though his heart wasn't into it.

Tailgate had managed to situate himself on Cyclonus's shoulders, the violet giant showing no signs of irritation at this. "Do you like it here?" "Yes!" Simmons said.

"No," said Grif at the exact same time.

"We've encountered aliens before, but we could barely communicate with them. You guys are just so advanced! You have a rich history and some of you were alive for it! You live for millions of years. That's just so fascinating to imagine." Simmons still had to crane his neck to look Cyclonus and Tailgate in the eye-lights.

"Cyclonus and I are both pre-war." Tailgate nodded his head, and Simmons had the impression of a bird puffing out its feathers. "Though, uh, I kind of missed it? Long story."

Cyclonus peered at the humans in his hands. "There are some among us who wonder what it must be like for you. You experience your entire lives in a blink of ours, yet your society is dynamic and changes rapidly. Though the humans I am familiar with never wore that sort of power armor."

"Yeah, Brainstorm thought we got pulled through a dimensional hole. So we're probably from either a different time or universe!...Probably universe. If you'd made contact with Earth, we'd have heard of you," Simmons noted.

"Yeah, yeah, blah blah." Grif had his helmet back on and was sitting up with some effort in Cyclonus's palm. "You know what I would do if I had millions of years of life? If I didn't have to worry about getting old?"

"Fulfill dreams that would be too expensive or far-off to achieve otherwise?" Simmons suggested. "Travel the galaxy? Read every book in existence?"

"Nope! Nothing. I would do absolutely, completely nothing. Just four million years of nothing." Grif gestured wildly as he talked, due to his inebriation, illness or both. "Just enjoy the longest nap possible."

Simmons sighed. "Why am I not surprised."

"Uh." Tailgate held up a finger. "Speaking from experience, napping for four million years? Not actually recommended. Everything changes without you and...leaves you behind." For some reason he glanced at Cyclonus, who gave him a surprisingly tender look back. 

Maybe the little guy was a robot demon too. "Yeah, yeah, don't let life pass you by, seize the diem, whatever. You wanna know why I'd spend that time doing nothing? You wanna know why? Because doing things is bad."

Cyclonus tilted his head, his tone suggesting amusement. "Do tell."

"You do things and people follow you. They get into trouble when you do. Doing things means you gotta leave people behind to do 'em. And then you fuck things up. They fuck things up. People who take action and lead and fight and all that shit? They fuck things up. Look at-look at you guys. No offense, but you live forever and you had a god damn four million year war that messed up your planet, and then you decided to mess ours up for good measure. Cuz you had a lot of time and everyone thinks you have to fill time."

"...Uh." Simmons wasn't really sure what to say to that. "It sounds like it was more complicated than that."

"I'm telling you. That's the secret. Never do anything ever." Somehow Grif didn't sound as smug and easygoing in his assertion than usual. Maybe that was the illness too. 

"Hey! You can't disrespect the war heroes of Cybertron like that," Tailgate snapped. "You don't know what they went through. When you're faced with injustice and tyranny, you have to do something! Otherwise you're just as responsible as the tyrants. You know what I would have done if I had a chance to do something all those years? If I still had them?!"

"Tailgate. It is alright," Cyclonus said, voice surprisingly level. "These humans have known war. And he is not the first to suggest anything would have been a better alternative than death and suffering." 

Tailgate sighed. "I guess, but...it's not right."

"And we do take action on behalf of good causes! For instance, the Blues..." Simmons trailed off. What were they capturing the flag for? What was the cause? Why was he thinking about this so hard? Why hadn't he before?

Grif, meanwhile, had fallen quiet. At first Simmons thought he'd passed out. But the orange soldier was still sitting up, sulking. 

"Well! Uh, this is an awkward subject," Tailgate said, shaking his head. "How about I ask you questions? Is it true you guys have big sticky tongues for catching your food or is Whirl lying about that?"

Simmons rubbed the bridge of his nose and hoped the medical bay wasn't too far away.

* * *

 

"Are you sure these are just holograms? They're so realistic!" Donut sat cross-legged behind Whirl's avatar, braiding his blue hair. "But you've got split ends, I'm sorry to say. I don't suppose you can make hologram hair treatments?"

"Nah, though I bet if you ask Brainstorm he'd try. I'm not allowed in his lab most of the time." The actual Whirl had been assigned to stay in his quarters after making some kind of joke that flew over Donut's head but made the captains uneasy. 

But for all the robot had a reputation, Donut found him very easy to talk with. One just had to listen. "So what happened to all the baby robots in the planet?"

"Baby robots? Oh, Sparks aren't really babies unless you, uh, well the process is confusing and probably boring. I guess they're still on Luna 1. I dunno."

"I can tell you what we need to do to make babies!"

"Nah, I saw that in an Earth movie once. It's hilarious, by the way. The movie, I mean, but also how you guys reproduce."

Donut blinked. "Oh, you like watching our movies?"

"Sometimes. We got kinda entangled with Earth. Swerve's really into it. I think he might be a closet Humie." 

"A what?" 

"You know, has a humansona." Whirl seemed to be considering something, then shrugged as if changing his mind. "Never mind. It probably wouldn't be as funny to you. But I like Earth movies alright." 

"What's your favorite?"

"Let's see. I got a few." The avatar counted off on his fingers. "Apocalypse Now, Ichi the Killer, Falling Down, and...what was it called? Oh, yeah. Strictly Ballroom."

Donut beamed, barely containing a squeal. "I love Strictly Ballroom! I'm so glad we can connect across time and space like this! Have you seen any other Baz Luhrmann movies? Tell me you've at least seen Moulin Rouge. I mean, it's not his best but it's worth seeing at least once before you die. Oh, and finished!" 

"Moulin Rouge, huh. I'll remember that." Whirl floated up and examined one of the Swiss Miss braids Donut had tied off with pink ribbons. "Hey, l like it! It's pink, like spilled Energon."

"Exactly!" Donut couldn't remember what that was, but his new friend was happy. That was what mattered.

That happiness seemed to evaporate the moment the great doors slid open and a broad-chested silver robot lumbered in. Donut couldn't quite remember which one he was. There were so many different robots here, and they'd be insulted if Donut admitted he had trouble keeping track of them. 

Whirl obviously recognized them, his avatar's smile taking on a more sinister, sarcastic tone. "Oh, hey! You guys said nothing about holomatter avatars, so eat my tailpipe."

But no harm came of being nice. Donut jumped to his feet and waved, looking up and up at the newcomer. "Hello! I think we met before but not one on one yet, right? I've tried to introduce myself to everyone but I lost track and almost collapsed from exhaustion yesterday, so now I'm under orders to make one friend at a time. Name's Donut." He held out his hand.

The silver robot stared at it as if he didn't know what to do with it. "Oh, right," he rumbled. "This is a greeting gesture." He held out a finger for Donut to shake. "I am Megatron, captain. And hello, Whirl. You are correct. We neglected to mention that."

Whirl crossed his arms. "What, so I have to cool off in my quarters, air quotes, but you get to wander freely?"

"Because I am Captain, and reassured Ultra Magnus and Rodimus I would do no harm. And you joked about playing human hockey." 

"Joked! I was joking! Jeez. Well, what do you want?"

"I would like to speak with Donut for a moment." Megatron gave Whirl a pointed look.

"Nooooot going anywhere. I just got my hair done and I am gonna sit here looking pretty and watching you." Whirl stuck his pinkies out. "See? That's how it goes, right Donut? Am I doing it right?" 

"That's exactly the proper English way to drink tea! Perfect, Whirl." Donut gave Whirl a thumbs-up and craned his neck back up to Megatron. "So what can I help you with? I can't do your hair unless you show me an avatar, but I bet I could suggest some touch-ups. Silver looks fantastic with purple."

Megatron's red eyes flickered. "No, that will not be necessary. You are Red Team, correct? I assumed, since you wear pink."

"That again? It's lightish-red!" Donut huffed. Even aliens couldn't tell the difference? And wouldn't everything look red through tinted optics?

"I see. I knew of one warrior who wore...lightish-red. It is the color of our life fluids, and of your organs and viscera. A fitting color for one who killed so many of my soldiers. You must be a formidable warrior as well, to bear it as your own."

Donut had the impression color theory and association worked very differently for Cybertronians. "Uh, thank you!" He didn't want to be rude. "So what do you need to know about Red Team?"

"I wish to know more about your goals, your conflict and your leader. I will not use this information to assist your enemies, I assure you."

"Oh, good! Because I love sharing, but if secrets made it to the Blues Sarge would be really upset with me." Donut decided to climb up onto a stack of boxes so he could at least sit a little closer to Megatron, who apparently had no intention of sitting down. A little rude, but Donut let it pass. Alien etiquette might have different rules. 

"So," he continued, "let's see. We have this really nice base over at Blood Gulch, though thanks to a really complicated incident involving teleporters we got separated from it. And Blue has a flag, and we need to capture it." 

Megatron stood patiently. After a second, Donut realized he was expecting more.

"Uh, I think that's about it."

"You need to capture their...flag? And what does the flag grant you?"

"Uh, victory, obviously! Then they have to try to get their flag back or steal ours. I have the record for successful flag-stealing for the entire canyon, by the way!" Donut posed dramatically, chin up. "One."

Megatron didn't say anything for a few seconds.

"Haha, humans are fun." Whirl floated behind him, chewing on holographic bubble gum. 

Megatron's optics blinked once, then twice. "I see," he finally said, in a very forced neutral tone. "Well, my respect for your record."

"Thank you! We really are a great team. I love that you guys have red badges, by the way! Excellent color choice."

"It does grow on one," Megatron said, absently placing a hand over his badge.

"And as for Sarge, if you really want to get to know him you should just talk to him yourself! He's very sociable and he'd probably love making friends with another solder. Especially someone like you, who's kind of reserved."

"You are the first person in four million years to call me 'reserved,'" Megatron said with a hint of a smile. 

"Compared to Sarge, anyway! He gets so, so intense. I like him a lot but I worry that's not great for his heart. Really, everyone on Red Team could stand to adopt some healthier habits. Sarge is always tense, Simmons stays up all night reading comics in dim light and likes energy drinks too much, and Grif really needs to look into quitting smoking." 

"War has a poor effect on health," Megatron said. "I admit I am puzzled by every aspect of your so-called war."

"Oh, same."

Megatron blinked again. "Well. Donut, this has been informative." There was a faint buzzing noise around the robot, who seemed to notice it and look around. "Ultra Magnus is asking for my attention. I believe I should say enjoy the rest of your stay?"

"Oh, he gave us the nicest presentation when we arrived! A little dry, though. Say hi to him for me!"

As Megatron lumbered off, Whirl floated back to the ground. "You know who he is, right?"

"I think so."

"And you had a civil conversation with a guy who's killed a lot of humans? Like, a lot?"

Donut paused and frowned. "I think I do have some of you mixed up after all. But if you're all willing to give him a second chance, who am I to judge?"


	3. Grif and Simmons, Difficulty: High

Ratchet scowled down at Swerve, which was to say he made an active effort to scowl instead of just letting his face rest in easy disapproval. It made him feel a bit like a jerk, especially with the way Swerve squirmed and offered a guilty half-smile in return, but Ratchet felt it was justified. Lives were at stake.

"You were supposed to run all the human food and drink sources past me first, to make sure they were meant to be consumed by humans." Ratchet bent down to look at the sulking, feverish human sitting on his examination table, dwarfed by the equipment.

"So what happened to that?" 

"I did! I did," Swerve insisted. "At least most of it. And the guy at the shop ensured me, I mean holomatter me, that it was all 100 percent organic-safe. And..." He glanced at the humans and lowered his vocal volume, though Ratchet suspected Grif and Simmons could still hear it. "They seemed to really want alcohol. Which I guess is like Energon for them except they don't need it? I never quite got the difference."

"Well, one of them does." Ratchet turned back to address Grif. "You'll destroy your internal organs drinking even normal, safe alcohol at that rate! What were you thinking?"

Grif just moaned, burying his face in his knees. "See, Simmons," he said in a muffled voice, "this is why I hate going to the doctor. Even giant metal space doctors lecture you. 'Get more exercise. Cure your depression with a carrot. Quit smoking. No, exposure to alien technology has not given you superpowers.'" 

"Yeah, well, I thought we were both going to die of pink alien plague. Or mutate or melt into each other. And some of those organs at stake here are mine! That's the only reason I bugged you into going," Simmons insisted, standing nearby on the table. 

"Quit whining," Ratchet snapped, arms crossed over his chest. "You're lucky I still have human medical records from our time on Earth, though our equipment's not the best for someone your size. But we can...make do..."

He turned around slowly to glare at First Aid and other members of the medical team standing behind him and pretending that they weren't watching over his shoulder. "This isn't a demonstration! Get back to your posts."

Amid a flurry of 'sorries' and flashing optics, the red-and-white mechs mostly dispersed. A sheepish-looking First Aid remained, peering down at the humans.

"Wuh-what are you lookin' at?" Grif, helmet off, squinted up at First Aid. 

"Nothing, nothing! Uh, Ratchet? I'm sorry, I just-well, one day it's possible I'll end up helping organics too. Maybe even humans," First Aid said, fidgeting with his hands. "And I'd like to know what I'm doing if that's necessary. But if it's a violation of patient privacy..."

Ratchet considered. First Aid was eager to learn and idealistic, but Grif and Simmons wouldn't be any more at ease with more Cybertronians looming over them. Experience on Earth had told Ratchet that his kind needed a different bedside manner with smaller beings. 

"Eh, it's fine," Grif said, interrupting his thoughts. "I guess. Fuck, I've dealt with Doc and Sarge. You two can't be half as bad."

Ratchet decided not to ask further, assenting with little more than a grunt and pointing first at Swerve, then Grif. "Okay. You two are gonna tell me what happened. You," he added to Simmons, "assist me with the patient."

"What? Me!? I already hauled his ass down here to begin with!"

"Nuh-uh! The big purple guy did. Dude's awesome." Grif waved at Cyclonus, who sat on a slab nearby being scanned for biological contamination. Cyclonus didn't seem to hear him, but Tailgate gave a wave. 

"Well, I hauled you partway through the hallway, and these hallways are fucking enormous and dangerous." Simmons huffed. "Why me?" "Your hands are the right size. First Aid will help you set up a cold press for that fever. And next time," Ratchet added, "just hail one of us. You know we turn into emergency vehicles, right?"

Simmons didn't answer that, though it may have had something to do with the tall, broad-shouldered mech stepping through the sliding doors. Ratchet didn't have to look around to see the entire medical wing staff tense up, some pointedly burying themselves in their work while others didn't even hide their disdain.

To Megatron's credit, something Ratchet found himself giving Megatron more frequently, he took it all in stride as he walked up to the examination table. "I heard there was an incident with the humans, Ratchet? Rodimus informed me. He wanted to check on it himself, but he has to deal with another disciplinary problem."

"Rodimus, discipline someone?" Ratchet was a bit too tired and distracted to hide the sarcasm in his voice. "I'm gonna guess you insisted on coming instead of him. Wonder why that is." He didn't give Megatron a chance to answer. "One of the humans managed to consume a trace amount of Energon internally."

"I chose because-he what?" Megatron's optics widened. 

"I what?" Grif slurred. 

Swerve just squirmed again, servos over his eyes. "I didn't serve them anything they weren't supposed to drink! I'd never do anything to harm humans. Especially not those guys! We're friends."

Both Ratchet and Megatron eyed the minibot critically. "Well," Ratchet concluded, "need to prioritize getting Dexter Grif here back on his feet. Autobots protect sentient beings. Right, Megatron?" He turned his patented Meaningful Look on the former Decepticon warlord.

"Erm, yes," Megatron muttered with a bit more effort than Ratchet appreciated. He averted his optics in the face of the Meaningful Look.

The humans, for their part, stayed very still while Ratchet gave Grif a bioscan. "Well, I'll be a Prime. Your internals are mostly fine. Your body's rejecting the stuff, of course, which is why you're sick. It just needs to work its way out. And that won't be pleasant, but it's better than dying."

"Oh, thank god," the maroon soldier whispered. Seconds later, apparently unaware that Cybertronians had good hearing, he stammered, "because it's not a contagious alien plague! It's just Grif who's sick. The asshole."

"Hey! Hey." Grif, hit with another wave of dizziness based on his body language, tried to stand up in protest and failed. "First of all, I put all kinds of garbage in my body and it's fine. Makes it stronger. I get immunity! Second, you know how often I've been blown up, cut apart or shot at? This is nothing! I am Grifter-I am Dexter Grif, the invincible."

"You'll be Dexter Grif the deceased if you don't get some rest!" Ratchet snapped. "That means less talking."

"And three, third," the inebriated soldier ranted, "Bartender Guy, uh, Smooth? Sideswipe?"

"Swerve," the mech in question said with a very forced smile.

"Yeah. It's not his fault. S'not, okay? He got good stuff. Like I don't know what it was, but it was alcohol. Mixed with Ovaltine."

"It was gross," Simmons said.

"It was good! It got you drunk. You hear about a four million year war and like, you wanna drink, you know? And maybe some of it got to my head a little and I grabbed the wrong square shot glass. And whoa! Lemme tell you, that stuff has a kick."

"That would be liquified energy," Megatron deadpanned. "Derived from a mineral."

Grif, with some effort, held his hands out to gesture at Swerve like he was introducing him on stage. "So, uh, Doctor Asshole and Darth Vaderbot, don't punish Swerve. He's a good guy, a stand up...thing that turns into a car for some reason."

At this, Swerve's optics lit up. Simmons stared at Grif, and Megatron nodded in mild approval.

"Then," Megatron rumbled, "at least you take responsibility for-"

"Blame Simmons." Grif pointed at the other soldier. "He's more sober than I am and should have kept a better eye on me. If anyone's at fault, it's him."

Simmons spun around. "For fuck's sake! That's it. Doc, what's the worst-tasting medicine you have? Because in my professional opinion, he clearly needs it."

"Hey! Sarge would agree, you're the responsible one. Which makes you responsible," Grif said, somehow confident that made sense.

Ratchet's servos twitched and formed into fists as he vented, about to break into a rant about dysfunctional conjux pairs learning how to be quiet in the medbay. Instead, Megatron silenced them.

He didn't even have to say a thing. He just stood over them so he cast a shadow over both of them, blocking out an ever-flickering ceiling light Ratchet had petitioned 30 times to have replaced. The two humans froze mid-squabble, stared up at the towering silver mech and fell dead silent, aside from a panicked squeak from Grif.

"Technically, as captain I am responsible for your welfare. And therefore I order you to follow Ratchet's instructions and get rest." Megatron crossed his arms over his chest. "I was going to ask you something about your CO, but it seems your mental state is compromised. I will leave it for another time. Ratchet, update us on the situation."

Ratchet just grunted, which was as much of a salute as he felt ready to give Megatron. As Megatron turned away to leave, Grif broke his silence and pointed up at him.

"Hey. You. Listen." 

The former Decepticon did not turn around or answer, but he stopped. Simmons gaped at Grif and moved as if he was going to stop him, then seemed to think better of it.

"Yeah! You, big metal guy. I mean, specifically you, cuz you're all big metal guys. Some of you are girls? Whatever. YOU. Guy who started the war." 

The medical bay fell silent again, save for the sounds of machinery and welding equipment. Cyclonus kept his optics on the humans' table, an eager and nervous Tailgate doing the same. 

Grif stood up unsteadily, taking a deep breath. 

"Stop that. War. Stop doing that. It sucks. War's...shit, dude. It's shit. I had something really eloquent prepared, like a-a speech. Right, Simmons? Simmons, what was my speech?"

"You never told me," Simmons said in a flat tone. "You were about to and that's when you barfed on me."

"Oh, right. Yeah." Grif stopped. "Speaking of. Nurse, get the bucket."

"I'm not your fucking nurse!" Simmons snapped, though he obeyed. And while First Aid made sure the right things were in fact working their way out of Grif's internals, Megatron left without a word, giving no indication of a reaction to Grif's words.

Ratchet held up a datapad. "Lots of rest, clean water, and really mild food. And no, don't pull that 'chicken wings is mild food for humans' bit. Heard it before."

* * *

 

Megatron doubted he'd get anything coherent out of Grif in his current state, and Simmons would be too preoccupied. Everything Donut and the two Blues told him just confused him. The other Blue was still in the ceiling according to a perturbed Ultra Magnus, who had assigned Skids this particular bout of human retrieval duty. Skids was good with ceilings.

"One of them drank Energon? Primus." Rodimus held his servo to his forehead. "I knew humans on the ship would cause some complications. I mean, they do things like pee, they need pretty specific levels of oxygen pumped into the air, they need booster seats...the whole deal. But I didn't expect these specific humans would be so-"

"Reckless? Dysfunctional? Lacking in judgement?" Megatron could not help giving Rodimus a meaningful look.

"I don't want to hear it," the red co-captain snapped back. "At least they're safe. We just need to keep them safe until Brainstorm and Nautica can rig something up with the Quantum Engines. Under close supervision in Brainstorm's case," he added with a mumble. 

"And I take it the Earth government of our dimension need not be informed of this incident."

"Why would they be? These aren't their humans." Rodimus shrugged. "And they mostly kind of hate us. They'd find a way to spin this against us, the the Galactic Council gets wind of it somehow and it becomes a Thing and Optimus uses his Disappointment Voice on me again. Have you ever heard his Disappointment Voice?"

"I may be familiar with it." Megatron could not hide a wry half-smile. 

"It is the woooorst," Rodimus continued as if he hadn't heard. "He doesn't even yell. You just wanna shrink down to five feet tall or something. Bad enough he already has such a low opinion of me, apparently, that he feels fit to saddle me with..."

He trailed off, catching himself with a brief mortified look on his face, and cleared his throat. "Anyway. I'm surprised you had anything to do with them. I told you, feel free to avoid them completely." 

"That was my plan," Megatron said, ignoring Rodimus's earlier insult. "In fact, I planned only to speak to the so-called ghost. And yes, I did not tell him the truth, per Rung's recommendation. Though I still do not approve of the lie."

"We don't know the full story," Rodimus reminded him. "I don't like it either."

"And yet, I find myself pulled deeper into the affairs of these organics. Strange..."

"So why do you care what they think of you?"

Megatron startled, broken out of his thoughts, and stared down at the Autobot. "I don't! I simply want to know if I am at risk!"

Rodimus threw up his hands, stalking in a circle around Megatron. "Of course you're not at risk! They're not a threat to you in the least. Their weapons were confiscated, and underneath those suits of armor they're soft like kitten paws. Uh, apparently kitten paws are really soft according to Swerve. But you know that, right? I know you're paranoid as hell sometimes, but that's not what this is about."

"Fine," Megatron snapped, glaring at Rodimus and crossing his arms in a way that absolutely wasn't petty or childish at all. "You seem to know me so well, Rodimus. What is this about, in your expert opinion?"

Rodimus knocked on Megatron's chest plate. "Knock knock! It's me, the over a billion humans your Decepticons killed. Maybe this is me giving you too much credit. After all, they are organics." Rodimus put a strong emphasis on the last word. "But I think whatever dim, flickering bit of your own conscience remains in your Spark flares up around them."

"What makes you think I have no conscience? I am here," Megatron said, hands to his chest plate. "I wear this badge. I have made it my sworn duty to make amends, regardless of how skeptical you are of that idea! And I am surrounded every day by Autobots, none of whom have forgotten my sins." 

That, he noted, was not entirely true. Nautica liked him. Nautica wasn't around for the war.

"Yeah, and you get used to it. Now you're interacting with humans on a regular basis and oh right, they're obviously people. You can't ignore that. It's not theoretical anymore, right? So now you have to look them in the eyes, or helmet I guess, knowing they're no different from the ones on our universe's Earth. The ones who were doing just fine before you came along." 

Megatron had seen Rodimus at his most intense before, those blue optics blazing and staring right up at him. As feckless and immature as Megatron took him for most of the time, even he had to admit a passionate Rodimus was a thing to see. No wonder so many chose to follow him across the stars.

He chose not to admit whether Rodimus was correct or not, as he wasn't entirely sure himself. Instead he found himself averting his gaze and lowering his voice. "I never did understand what about that species was so appealing to Optimus. Why he chose to defend that planet with such fervor."

"I-I'm not sure myself. Some of them were real asses." Rodimus mumbled something about a 'Spike.' "But he said once that we needed them to remind us why we were fighting in the first place. Not because they're teeny and squishy and die of stuff all the time, but because they thrive despite all that. And I gotta admit, they have some pretty great music." A little smile crossed his face.

The conversation was going places that left Megatron feeling more adrift than usual. Was it sheer guilt eating at him? He hadn't harmed a hair on these humans. That was not their Earth. 

"At any rate, I am not afraid of being judged. That should be evident at this point. And so, I'm going to speak to the human I should have approached in the first place." 

"Huh?" Rodimus raised an eyebrow. "This is over a specific human? Which one?"

 "Where is the Red Team leader now?


	4. Sarge, Difficulty: Unknown

Even if they hadn't reacted well to his suggestion that they convert the engines (and Nautica's wrench, and Brainstorm's internal systems) to diesel, Sarge liked the Autobots. Especially their science team. They were creative, the way scientists ought to be. 

"So," he said, cupping his chin as he looked over the impressive array of weapons on the lab's wall. "That one," he pointed. "Shrink ray, right?"

"Actually, it's-wait." Brainstorm looked up from the blueprints on his datapad, blinked his optics and did a double-take. "You're right. That is the shrink ray. How'd you know?"

"Looks like the setup I'd use if I was building one! Had the plans and everything, just couldn't get ahold of enough rock salt." Sarge grumbled. "Would have been the perfect plan against the Blues, too. Shrink 'em, then send them back to Red HQ in shrink rap! Thought they'd appreciate the pun. Command, I mean." He waited a beat. "Mind if I borrow it?"

"Yes, as in no, you can't borrow it or anything in the lab. Even if I wanted to lend my things out to strangers, which I don't, I'm sort of under pretty strict supervision here." Brainstorm thumbed at the security mechs watching everything in the lab, particularly Brainstorm himself. "I'm only out of the brig right now because you all need my particular genius to help you out. Don't they, Perceptor?" 

"Ignore him," Nautica piped up. "He's just cranky because he's a SPY and a TRAITOR and I need some help deciphering this equation. And Perceptor is busy!"

"He's not busy! He's pretending so we leave him alone! He's looking at crosswords. Trust me."

"I heard that," Perceptor's level voice came from across the room. He didn't look up from his desk. "Aren't you just working on inventing that Human Repellent you mentioned?"

"What? Me?" Brainstorm startled. "No! Nooooo. No. It's just a sign. Coated in human repellent. Which doesn't exist yet. Totally separate."

Sarge had to mostly ignore whatever was going on between the feuding scientists while he concentrated on making it across the big room and climbing onto Nautica's table. "Hold on! Hold on, almost got it...hnngh!" He pulled himself up and swung his legs so they were hanging off the edge. "Still got it. Fit as a well-oiled machine. Does that metaphor work for you folks?"

Nautica blinked and frowned, looking over Sarge with concern. "You could just ask for my help getting up next time. Unless it would be awkward."

"And impose on a lady? Never. Now, what seems to be the problem? Equation, you say? Not much for the math. Sort of a doer instead of a planner. Scientific improvisation."

"Really? Wish I had the confidence for that." Nautica vented and rested her chin on her hands. "I'm just trying to trace back what brought you here in the first place. If I can decipher it in the logs, maybe we can reproduce it to create the same effect. Without collapsing our respective universes into a singularity and killing everyone in both."

"Huh. That would be a pretty bad end. On the other hand, no universe, no Blues!" He chuckled, only to grasp from the confused stare on Nautica's face that the joke hadn't landed. "Right. Keep forgetting, Red Team won in your universe! No more Blues."

"For the last time," Perceptor said, "we don't have a Blue Team."

"Course you don't! Cuz they lost! What's his name, Ultra Magnets gave us that history lesson when we got here. Nice guy, little dry. Could use a less-blue paint job. But you seem to count badges over armor, since you're...made of armor, and your badges are red! And your eeeevil opponents were purple, which is Blue enough by my reckoning! No offense, Nautica. Like I said, badges, not paint. Why, it's inspiring! All we need to do is find a Matrix of Leadership, sacrifice Grif to it, power up Lopez after we find him and...um..."

He trailed off as a long purple finger tapped him lightly in the chest several times over, nearly knocking him onto his back once. Nautica was frozen in an intense look of concentration as she poked him.  
Sarge was unsure if he should be embarrassed, annoyed or just concerned about falling off. "Something wrong...?"

"Oh! Uh, everyone says humans are squishy like jellied Energon. But you're kind of solid."

"Well!" Sarge couldn't help but puff his chest out.,"I do try to stay in tip top shape. Lift weights every morning. Weights made out of guns. Not, uh, one for the personal space, are ya?"

"Nautica, leave him alone. We must be careful with our guests." That was a new voice, coming from the doorway. Sarge scolded himself internally for being too distracted to hear the doors open. What if it'd been the Blues, attempting to assassinate him while he was separated from his team?

Then Sarge recognized the speaker and fell silent.

* * *

 

There. Megatron knew he could trust his instincts. He saw it in action, the way the Red Team leader went from cheerful, easygoing bluster to defensive. Was it defensive? 

Human body language wasn't difficult to read. Organics had chemicals in their blood controlling their emotional and physical responses. When in fear, they shook uncontrollably, a trait which they shared with some Cybertronians. Their pulses and breathing patterns accelerated in times of stress. 

He had to admit, he hadn't seen much of how humans acted when they weren't frightened or stressed. It was a natural reaction to what he and his Decepticons had done to them.  
Maybe this was guilt, as Rodimus thought? Perhaps Megatron was looking at the defiant soldier standing across from him and seeing Manhattan and Beijing in his subconscious. It should not bother him so. He could just ignore Sarge.

Well, now he couldn't, as Sarge had agreed to speak to him in private. And he had a shotgun.

"I thought we'd confiscated your weapons," Megatron said to break the awful silence. 

"You did! But you understand, can't be expected to go around without my shotgun. Leaves me feeling naked! One of your guys got it back for me in exchange for posing in a photo. Lot o' folks here ain't seen many humans before!" 

"I see." Megatron narrowed his optics. "And this soldier-"

"Totally forgot his name after I promised to forget his name. You know how it is when you get old." 

Gritting his teeth at the proof of insubordination, Megatron knelt and held out his hand.

"Nope, sorry! I already handed her over once. Twice in one month? It'd be too much for my heart. Besides, you can't expect me to go unarmed around the Blues, can you?" Sarge held the shotgun close to his chest, rifle up.

"Or me," Megatron added evenly.

"Does it look like I'm pointing it at you?" 

Megatron stared down at the tiny red soldier with his even tinier shotgun, a weapon no longer than one of Megatron's digits. It couldn't harm a turbofox, let alone anyone on the Lost Light. He could easily pick the weapon from Sarge's hands, bend it into a circle and crush it underfoot as a show of power. The old Megatron would have done it.  
The old Megatron would also have killed all the humans as soon as they arrived on board, without bothering to learn their names. Maybe he would have interrogated one first to make sure no others would slip through the leak in time. The old Megatron would have died unrepentant and unmourned.

"Fine. You may carry it with you, as long as you do not threaten or fire on any member of my crew, or damage our equipment."

"What about shooting at Grif?"

"What you do with your own troops is none of my business. And no, that is not why I called you in here." It was obvious to Megatron that despite his surface bluster, Sarge was fidgeting and shifting his weight. The human soldier wanted very much to leave.

"...then what is it? I got a shrink ray to borrow." Sarge wasn't shouting the way he had with Nautica and Brainstorm, or anyone else he interacted with for that matter. He sounded flat and distant.

"I have questions about your behavior towards me. Before you ask, no, it is not unacceptable or worthy of punishment. You have done nothing wrong." Megatron said it in part to remind himself. "But you act differently towards me than with the other Cybertronians."

"...Not sure what you mean," Sarge said, turning away. "Or what you're getting at. Quit bein' indirect. It's sneaky."

"Yes, you're right. I did not mean to be deceptive." He had to allow himself that little turn of phrase. "I want to be sure you are not planning anything against me, or conversely, that you understand I am no threat to you. As I have assured my co-captain and director of security, and your fellow humans, I mean you no harm."

"What makes you think I'm scared of you? You wanted me dead, I'd be dead, right? And trust me, it goes both ways." Sarge crossed his arms. "Ask the Blues. I'm really persistent."

"So I have heard."

"And I got the best team behind me! And Grif. And believe me, it was kind of tempting to take revenge on behalf of Earth after the bull biscuits you pulled there, Bucket o'Bolts."

"Actually, Bucket of Bolts is part of the maintenance crew." He turned into a motorized mop. "But I am to assume if you wanted your revenge, you'd have it by now."

"Well, I got you talkin' to me, personally, like you're scared of me. Got in your head! Played you like a game of dominoes, in which I'm winning!" Sarge threw back his head and laughed, though Megatron thought it sounded a little hollow. "But I'm not stupid.

We wouldn't stand a chance against you. S'not our revenge to have, you know? I bet that Earth has their own ideas about what they oughta do. Besides, I can only handle one vendetta at a time, and right now it's vengeance against the Blues. For being Blue."

At that, Megatron snorted. "I knew someone who did that, would claim however things went sour for him that he'd planned it all along. It's a panic defense. On the other hand, I gather I genuinely do not read as a threat to your life, or you would have attacked. No being, organic or otherwise, remains passive when its life is at stake." 

"Don't even really get what your issue you have with my 'behavior,'" Sarge said with finger quotes around the last word, not addressing Megatron's observation. "Like you said, not doing you any wrong."

"You're not quiet around anyone else."

"Quiet? Me? You got that right! I'm not..." Sarge trailed off, staring off past Megatron at the corner of the room. "Well. Guess I was. But so are you, Buckethead."

"I don't believe in wasting words."

"Not what I mean! I see you starin' at us, like we're gonna start crawling up your legs and infecting you with alien acid spit. Which we don't have, cuz Mother Nature's a cruel mistress. I think there's something about us that unnerves ya, gets under your skin. Like lookin' at a mirror."

"A mirror?" The rest Megatron could not deny. Even outside of the guilt which should have been obvious to him, he found organics unsettling, so far removed from Cybertronian life down to the cellular level and yet sentient. But that last accusation was different. What did he have in common with this strange old man?

"Just, you know. Once in a while you come across someone and it's like looking at yourself through one of those funhouse mirrors. 'Cept instead of being all wobbly-looking with a corndog in your hand, you're, oh. I dunno. A guy who used to have a lot of convictions, fightin' a good war in his youth, and now..."

Megatron held his head high. "And now, I am hated by my crew, disrespected unless I enforce my command, and confronted every day with the evidence of how wrong I was about people. Not my philosophy or my cause, but what became of it. Perhaps pitiable to someone so zealously dedicated to your own quest."

Silence from Sarge again. 

"A visible, public figure becomes a sort of mirror, an item upon which others project their own self-image. You look upon me and you fear your own failure. No one likes to think they could go too far, make one wrong decision that propels them on a lifetime of them." Megatron spoke without judgment. It would do no good to condescend to the human. "And you would not have centuries more to make amends."

"Got nothing to make amends for! No regrets. Wanna keep it that way." Sarge was clearly trying to recover some of his energy from earlier. "Not even supposed to be thinking about this, doubting myself. A true solder never doubts anything!"

Megatron frowned. "Is that so."

"It's Grif! Grif's the one who played the psychological trick on me, and I didn't even see it! See, he's this soldier. The worst, just the worst soldier ever. Terrible at following orders. So I'm at that bar your pal Swerve runs, telling some old war stories, standing on the table because I got way too much dignity to sit on a booster seat like my teammates."

"Go on."

"And I overhear Grif, about 32 sheets to the wind, rambling about you. You and that, uh, Optimistic guy? But mostly you. You know what he does? Compares you to me. No, compares me to you. Like you're what I turn into if I get a few million years to keep on ticking. Which is ridiculous! Don't even know why I listen to the guy! I don't respect him at all! And here I am, venting my spleen to you like that Rung guy kept trying to make me do." He grunted, turning away. "Never liked psychological warfare anyway."

"...Compared me to you." Megatron tilted his head. "Interesting. You are his model for a warlord who claimed entire planets. I'm not sure what I think of being used as a cautionary tale. Perhaps it's fitting. But I will say two things."

"Well, go on," Sarge said. "You already sapped my dignity. Got me talking about feelings I don't have."

"One, no matter how I feel about what I did before, I do not regret being here now. I am not lowered by my change of heart, or the knowledge that I have done wrong. You may look upon me and see something weakened and pathetic; you would not be the only one. I know nothing of your cause or your actions; I hope they are as just and true as you think they are. I hope you never go so far astray as I have." He focused his optics right at Sarge. "But should you open your eyes one day and realize the universe is not as you saw it, know there is no shame in embracing a new vision."

Sarge huffed, crossing his arms. "Well, good thing that's not gonna happen. Told ya, I'm over it."

"Of course." Megatron had to hide a smirk. "As for the other thing. You should pay the closest attention to those soldiers who argue with you and question or disregard your orders."

Sarge sputtered. "What the hell kind of leader lets people disrespect him!?"

"I didn't mean 'let them.' Listen." Megatron's mind conjured up the image of a red Seeker wearing the crown of Cybertron like he was born with it. The smile vanished. 

"They can surprise you, Red Team Leader. Don't let them."

* * *

 

As Megatron left the room, Sarge stomped out after him before a nervous-looking Nautica picked him up to take him back to the lab. 

"Uh," the quantum mechanic asked as she looked up at Megatron, "he's not in trouble, is he? I wanted to ask him about the time dilation effects his crew experienced when they crossed over here. You need to know that sort of thing!"

"You do? I mean, no," Megatron assured her. "No one is in trouble. Except Brainstorm," he amended, "but no more trouble than he was in before. Sorry to have interrupted your work. Oh, and no more poking. It's disrespectful."

Nautica grinned and headed back to the science wing, though Megatron could hear Sarge's voice carry over the metallic ring of her footsteps.

"I'm telling you, I can walk just fine! Just might take me a few more hours. Nothing wrong with that! At the very least, could you hold me a little less doll-like? Man's got to think of his dignity!"

As they vanished down the hall, Megatron heard a mech approach and was surprised to see Ultra Magnus walking up to him. He narrowed his optics. "You were not listening in, were you?" 

"What? Of course not," Magnus insisted. "That would be childish and against protocol! We were observing you on security same as everyone else."

"And you did not seriously think I would harm him?"

"For what it's worth, I did not." Magnus gave Megatron a sympathetic look, the kind that always made Megatron feel a little uncomfortable. "The situation with the human in the ceiling has gotten more complicated than Skids can handle alone, so Rodimus is helping out. Rodimus and several others." His frown deepened.

"I will...trust him to handle that," Megatron decided, his processor aching just imagining what could be happening. "You are here on his behalf?"

"Yes, well." Ultra Magnus opened a compartment and pulled out a gold badge with a picture of Rodimus's grinning face.

"Another one?!" The processor-ache deepened.

"It is possible to earn more than one. Rodimus is planning some kind of prize system for accumulating Rodimus Stars as soon as he gets around to it. I believe the current record-holder is Hound." Ultra Magnus, as usual, showed an impressive amount of restraint for someone forced to deal with something so ridiculous. "In our co-captain's absence, we can skip the attending Rodimus Star Ceremony."

"Thank Primus." For all his exasperation, Megatron couldn't help but smile. "So, what's this one for?"

Ultra Magnus stood straight, reading the back. "For Developing Your Skills in Organic-Cybertronian Relations, And Not Killing Any Hu." He squinted and looked twice. "I suppose it didn't all fit."

Pressing his hand to his forehead, Megatron took the badge and looked it over. "I'll wear it for a whole hour this time."

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Simmons also got a Rodimus Star for assisting with Grif.  
> He had no idea what to do with it.
> 
> Also, hope you've enjoyed this little crossover-for-the-sake-of-it! Like I said, I'm probably going to write more short fics in this universe, though not on any particular schedule. After being stuck for so long on Not Your War, I needed to ease back into writing RvB and fanfic in general and this turned out to be just the thing.
> 
> Don't drink Energon if you're not from a show that only occasionally follows a sense of logic, kids.


End file.
